Sitting, glass in hand,
watching the ceiling (lowering down on you from overhead)
the phone won’t ring,
you can’t take it,
can’t bring it to your attention to gain the conviction
to dial 7 digits and explain
that
this has been hell
may have well been the end of your life
debating, contemplating
the loneliness a knife,
that stabs, and jabs
into your sides
like a part of you is missing
stolen away
can’t sleep, can’t eat
yesterday, today
it’s the same
they sit consistently on your brain
in a phantom ocean of happiness
that’s long since started to drain
and you need them
and you want them
want things to return
to those days you got lost in their beauty
and the nights that the passion burned
and you both turned in deep erotic circles
around the others soul
nothing else at all mattered
as long as you could hold
onto the body, mind, heart, and soul
of the one who completed you most
now you’re stuck moping around
your individuality a ghost
(because without them, part of you is gone)
so you sit all alone,
dammit, throw your foolish pride aside,
and pick up the phone
let them know
the love’s still real
that not even the skies falling to the earth
could change the way you feel
and they complete you
and you’re praying that you still
complete them
you want to refasten the ties,
forget all the lies,
trivial ‘he said’s and ‘she said’s
the painful goodbyes….
tell them that no true love deserves to be lost….
and things that are broken
are meant to be fixed
no matter what the cost